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“Sit.”
“Quit.”
“Here.”
“No.”
Jonah and Riley are fighting over a tube of toothpaste.
I have realized the commands I give them are the same ones I give our dog.
I laugh. I remember how I would throw toilet paper and Kleenex on the bathroom floor to entertain him. He would tear it all to shreds. So I upgraded to socks. Textbook mistake. I now drop things on the floor to entertain Jonah and Riley while I get ready. Spatula. Basting brush. Measuring spoon. Blow dryer. Tube of toothpaste. I nonchalantly slide a tube of body lotion and diaper rash cream off the counter. Peace is temporarily restored.
I never wanted a dog, but I love my husband. So we drove to Squaw Valley and picked a purebred Australian Shepherd out of a litter of pups. If I was getting a dog, it had to be the perfect dog. A good family dog. Matt wanted a smart one.
He shivered on my lap in the blankets we brought, and the man who ran the place said the pup was scared. I imagine leaving all he has ever known – his brothers and sisters, a swarm of flies, and the crap he was sitting in – was scary. On the way home, I remember Matt saying something about how dogs can get carsick too. Great.
We named him Oski. Well, Matt named him Oski after the Cal Bear mascot. He has one blue eye and one brown eye, common for this breed. Also common is to cut their tail off after birth. They are bred to be herders, and I imagine it gets in the way of herding. But I didn’t want a dog without a tail. However, no one told me his tail alone sheds enough hair to coat my sofa and clog the vacuum each week. I ask Matt if we can cut it off now. He says no.
Oski chewed up door molding, peed on the carpet, puked on me, barked a lot, and made me chase him around the living room sofa. I swear he was laughing at me. Seriously, I saw a smile. I Google Aussies:
Aussies can have a very high opinion of themselves. The owner of an Aussie must be assertive. If you hate being assertive, are very soft spoken, and want a dog that will naturally give in to you without any stress, then don't get an Aussie.
Crap.
One day Oski started digging in the yard. I called the dog trainer. He tells me that’s a hard one. “Clean it up, but don’t let him see you cleaning it up.” Am I the only one who can see the absurdity in all of this? Clean it up, but don’t let him see I’m cleaning it up. Oh, and don’t forget to challenge him. Make him respect me. Be a leader. Be fair but firm. All the while deepening my voice to sound like a guy because, well, that supposedly works better. I hang up.
So there I was, the crazy neighbor with her dog running invisible obstacle courses in the front yard, trying to sound like Darth Vader.
“Did you put a chip in him?” asked my in-laws.
“No, I think you only do that if you want him back.” I smile.
After I gave birth, my mom not so subtly posts an article on my refrigerator about dogs attacking babies in swings. She asks me if I think Oski will eat Jonah and Riley. Which I have to admit wasn’t completely out of the question considering they were a little more than four pounds and could have been mistaken for a chew toy. I tell her that Oski just wants to sniff and lick them.
And that’s exactly what he has done, to which I respond with “No.” He is very protective of Jonah and Riley and a guardian of our home. It’s somehow beautiful when I hear Oski yelping because Riley is trying to disconnect his ear, but he patiently waits for her to finish and lays down for what might be a spontaneous bout of affectionately scratching his underside – and sometimes, Jonah and Riley do just that.
Now Jonah and Riley are eating Kibbles and Bits. Ugh.
“No.” I carry them to another room.
Dr. Mojibi gave us a handout called: A guide for parents on teaching their children the concept of “no.” I definitely have the Displace and Distract down, but I can’t remember the first D. I grab it off the refrigerator. Demeanor. Yes, Demeanor: Face should be serious and, moms, especially, should lower their voices so the infant will recognize this conversation is different and meaningful. Oh, God, help me.